I Can't Get Up
by RisingSm0ke
Summary: "But Roadhog wasn't here. He was alone. He was going to die in an alleyway." In which Junkrat is not having a good time.


Inspired by this picture I saw on tumblr by dashiana:  
post/146364612427/i-cant-get-up-a-duo-of-quick-sketches-where

* * *

Everything was muted in the worst way. Junkrat knew he was partially deaf, but this was a different kind of muffled silence. His breath came in short gulps, lungs unable to pull in enough air to satisfy him. Heart hammering against his rib cage and vision going blurry, Junkrat tried once more to unsuccessfully haul himself to his remaining foot, only to collapse against the brick road with a pained grunt.

That rat-fuck bitch Widowmaker had shot his leg off before ducking back into cover, leaving the prosthetic in unusable shambles. Splinters of the fake limb had exploded outward upon the bullet's impact and a few managed to embed themselves into his flesh leg, rivulets of blood snaking their way down his calf and soaking his footwear. His riptire had already been discarded, he'd tried moving but wound up twisting the ankle of his good leg when it buckled under the explosive tire's weight. He shouldn't have even tried to hop around with it and his grenade launcher weighing him down, and now it was going numb with pain.

"Hog! Ya out there mate!?" Not for the first time his weak call was left unanswered and fear for his friend welled in his chest along with the gut-wrenching terror brought on by rising desperation.

He knew the initial shock was wearing off and morphing into a panic attack. Being stuck without your bodyguard in the middle of a fire fight did that to a person. Fuck it's been years since he's had to deal with a panic attack alone. His mind screamed a million unhelpful and fragmented thoughts while he struggled to pull himself somewhere secluded with just the use of his arms. Metal fingers scratched the brick when they slipped across the worn, damp stone, and his flesh hand was bleeding from the rough treatment.

The colder weather only added insult to injury, dark gray clouds hung low and heavy with the threat of rain and it was making his limbs ache something fierce. He'd never had to deal with this sort of thing in Australia, or without Roadhog's support, and he was starting to think that maybe the money these Overwatch pricks were paying them wasn't worth all the trouble.

"Roadhog!?" He called again, his voice sounding distant to even his own ears, tears burning at his wide eyes when there was no response over the sound of assault fire. Junkrat closed his eyes, curling up into a ball in the alley he'd crawled to and tried to control his breathing, he was getting light headed. Usually when he hyperventilated, Roadhog was there to help him regulate his breaths, taking in those noisy but soothing whooshes of air for Junkrat to mimic.

But Roadhog wasn't here. He was alone. He was going to die in an alleyway.

Junkrat wasn't sure how long he sat there, choking back sobs of fear and pain, trying to hear anything except the sound of gunfire and thunder, all while regretting his stubborn refusal to wear an ear-communicator like the rest of the team. Tears made tracks down his face, taking away some of the grime that'd built up on his cheeks and revealing the freckled skin underneath. His useless limb lay detached at the alley's mouth next to his tire, looking like just another pile of rusty trash. He clutched his grenade launcher with white knuckles, fully loaded and ready to be shot at any enemies that found him.

A few agents crept past him, unaware that he hid against the farthest wall with his good hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his ragged breathing, weapon aimed forward with his metal limb. Luckily they moved past without a fuss, though one had definitely kicked at his riptire curiously before moving on. He didn't dare call for his companion again after that.

It was a good hour before the clamor of battle subsided into an eerie quiet, but still Junkrat didn't move. He was so cold, the light drizzle that had begun at some point during his hiding slowly soaked the few articles of clothing he wore, a deep chill settling in his bones. One of the spare rags he kept crammed in his cargo pockets was pressed against the wounds in his leg, and the previously brandished grenade launcher was left abandoned on the cold bricks. Glazed eyes blinked sluggishly against the dreary gray view he had from the alley, trying in vain to stay awake.

* * *

 _Where is Jamison,_ was the only thought Roadhog's mind was capable of forming. It played on repeat like a skipping record, growing more frantic with every corner he turned only to find Junkrat _not_ _ **there**_. The chain of his hook rattled with every lumbering step he took, deep breaths whooshing loudly through his mask in fatigue. He looks away for one minute during a mission and the idiot runs off to who knows where. An aggravated and worried sigh rumbled like a growl in his throat, catching the attention of Tracer who was darting back to the team's temporary base.

"What's wrong, big guy?" She inquired, taking a moment to glance around and note the absence of a certain lanky, loud Australian. "Where's Junkrat?" Her delicate brows were puckered in confusion as she looked up to meet the blank lenses of Roadhog's mask.

"Missing," Roadhog grunted, turning away from the petite woman in front of him to scan the area again. Tracer made a small noise of concern, following Roadhog's lead and looking around as well. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip as she watch the giant man go back to his searching, even going so far as to lift a parked vehicle, only to drop it with a crash when Junkrat wasn't underneath.

"Guys, we have a problem," Tracer said into her com, slim fingers pressed to her earpiece, "Looks like Junkrat is missin', anyone seen 'im?" She was met with a chorus of answers ranging from a mumbled _"good riddance"_ (That Tracer was extremely thankful Roadhog couldn't hear) to varying levels of worried _"negative."_

Roadhog gave a roar of frustration, stomping his foot harshly when the next few spots he checked also turned up empty. His gravely snarls could be heard even from under his mask, and Tracer winced in concern when the man punched a wall, cracking the concrete.

"Don't worry love, we'll find him," She tried to comfort timidly, wringing her hands together, "I'll get the team to help ya, he'll turn up in no time." Her own reflection looked back at her from the dead lenses of his mask, the junker enforcer's expression dangerously unreadable.

"You best hope so," Was all Roadhog said lowly in response, leaving to choose another street to search without another word. Tracer shivered, dread hanging over her as she followed Roadhog's lead and took off in the opposite direction.

The search stretched on for far longer than Roadhog was even remotely comfortable with, there was no answer to the team's calls and because he didn't wear a communicator, Junkrat was untraceable. Steaming air billowed from Roadhog's ventilation ports, his hot breath meeting the cold air with each exhale. Night was approaching and the rain lowered visibility while the temperature steadily dropped.

His worry and frustration was at it's peak when he finally spotted Junkrat's discarded riptire, lying uselessly in a puddle beside a heap of trash. Closer inspection revealed that Junkrat's leg was also present. Roadhog's breathing stopped, cold dread settling to form a pit in his chest as he hastily moved to peer into the alley, his shoulders nearly brushing the adjacent walls when he walked farther into the dark city crevice.

"Jamie," Roadhog said dumbly, shocked to see his employer slumped against the far wall, bloody and soaked to the bone. Junkrat opened his eyes weakly, gaze unfocused and glassy as he looked up at Roadhog, obviously not really seeing what was in front of him. "Jamison." Roadhog said again, crouching in front of his wounded friend.

"Ro'hog?" Junkrat slurred, blinking owlishly and looking down at his own crumpled and shivering body, "Can't get up," He said flatly, head lolling up to stare at his partner with a frail smile that looked almost apologetic. Roadhog snorted in response, reaching to pick him up like he was made of glass. The smaller junker let out a pained grunt when his strained muscles were moved but otherwise stayed quiet, curling against his bodyguard's chest like he could hide there from the pain.

It wasn't long before Roadhog found another Overwatch agent, and the passed on the message that Junkrat had been found and needed medical attention. Their trip to the drop ship was rushed, and before Junkrat could be passed into Mercy's care, Junkrat reached up from the cradle of his guardian's arms to pat lightly at his face. When Roadhog paused to give him his attention, Junkrat smiled again, a tired grin stretching across his face in a reassuring gesture.

"It'll be 'kay mate, v'got m'self inta worse situations," The junker wheezed between the harsh shudders that wracked his lean frame, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. Roadhog said nothing for a moment before he gingerly shifted the man in his arms. He leaned down and rested his forehead against Junkrat's, and they remained like that for a beat, ignoring the stares of their team in favor of taking silent comfort in the knowledge that they were both alive. The explosives expert let his eyes close in relief, his grin shrinking to a soft smile as he listened to the reassuring sound of his friend's breathing and felt the beat of his heart against his side.

"Jamison?" Roadhog rumbled, breaking the small bubble of silence the two had created, pulling back and laying Junkrat on the awaiting gurney, ignoring Mercy hovering patiently nearby.

"Yeah?" Junkrat answered, wincing with the motion before allowing himself to settle into the rigid bed. Roadhog stood up straight, fists clenching dangerously, blank mask following Junkrat as he was wheeled down the hall.

"Don't do that again."


End file.
